


Liminality

by rockinhamburger



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Communication, Discussion of Health Concerns, Epiphanies, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26330989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockinhamburger/pseuds/rockinhamburger
Summary: But instead of driving over to his parents’ house to tell them he’d called off the engagement and staying there for a while to figure out his next steps, he got on the Trans-Canada Highway … How could he be so reckless? What was he thinking? No, he knows exactly what he was thinking, what he’s still thinking. The truth had slammed into him on Friday morning in the elevator on the way up to his office:I’m not happy.Five liminal spaces for Patrick Brewer that represent significant transitional moments where change is inevitable and transformation can happen.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 36
Kudos: 215





	Liminality

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiii! It’s been a minute since my last fic. I come bearing a new one with a concept that’s a bit pretentious, or perhaps timeless, as **musictoyourlips** so kindly pointed out. This is a five times fic (without the +1 because it didn’t fit) that explores the idea of liminal spaces. A liminal space is a threshold between two spaces, "a waiting area between one point in space and time and the next,” where you don’t know what’s coming, but where many things are possible in the near future.
> 
> Content warning for medical and health discussions. If you have questions about this, my Tumblr ask is always open (I go by the same name).
> 
> Thank you to **stillicide_snow** and **fishyspots** for giving the early draft of this a read-through and providing validation - y’all are awesome! And I want to say every thanks possible to **musictoyourlips** for once again being a champion beta reader who makes my writing so much better. You were, as ever, so giving of your valuable time and energy (October is on its way!)

1

The normally soothing sounds of Peter Gabriel filtering through the speakers of Patrick’s car aren’t hitting right as the late afternoon turns to evening. The music is grating on Patrick’s sensitive nerves, so he snaps the stereo off with a huff, shifting in his seat. The silence isn’t much better, but the small change feeds his need for control and eases the tension in his shoulders ever so slightly.

Patrick watches the line on the road for a moment. He’s already driven along 800 kilometers of yellow paint; the long hours have been characterized by a sense of momentum and a low thrum of nerves and excitement. But he’d passed the unassuming sign marking those 800 kilometers away from the only home he’s ever known, and with no destination in mind, the blend of excited nerves and the sheer potential of up ahead had shifted into something else entirely: uncertainty and unease.

What is he _doing_?

He quit his reliable, well-paying consulting job without notice on Friday. He broke up with Rachel yesterday, packed up all his stuff, and left first thing this morning. But instead of driving over to his parents’ house to tell them he’d called off the engagement and staying there for a while to figure out his next steps, he got on the Trans-Canada Highway.

How could he be so reckless? What was he thinking?

No, he knows exactly what he was thinking, what he’s still thinking. The truth had slammed into him on Friday morning in the elevator on the way up to his office: _I’m not happy._

The memory is affecting enough to make Patrick pull over to the side of the road, hands shaking too much to drive safely. He casts back in his memory desperately. Has he ever been happy?

He’s being dramatic. When he was a kid, definitely. Playing tag in the backyard with his cousins, the dogs barking happily and jumping on them in their excitement. Playing video games with Mike, who kept up a running commentary so hilarious it would have Patrick screaming with laughter, stomach aching perfectly. Happiness was so easy then, as simple as running across the street to hang out with his best friend until his mom called him in for supper.

He had a happy childhood, camping with his parents every summer, roasting marshmallows on the fire. He remembers burning the hell out of the last one and his dad switching their sticks so Patrick had the perfect golden brown one. He was happy watching hockey with his dad in the living room and playing Snap with his mom at the kitchen table, going to baseball games with the whole extended family and eating jumbo dogs and soft pretzels. He remembers getting so excited about a home run he’d sent popcorn flying over the row of people in front.

Christmas mornings were always special, sitting in front of the fireplace in his pajamas, opening stockings and gifts and making a face when his parents kissed each other in thanks. He remembers his dad singing updated versions of Christmas carols that would have his mom alternating between hysterical laughter and scandalized cries of, “Clint!"

Rachel is missing from a lot of the happy memories that flood over him. There are some, especially early on when they’d go for long walks around the neighbourhood late at night, laughing and shushing each other frantically. He remembers throwing around a baseball with Rachel and her brothers, back before they got together. They were best friends first, and dating had seemed like a natural extension of that.

Rachel features in other memories, too, ones of obligation and inadequacy. When he didn’t want to move in together right after college but did it anyway because he couldn’t come up with a good reason not to. Putting off the questions from every corner about their future for years, until he was so tired of them he finally bought a ring and proposed last year.

There are also embarrassing memories. Ever since they got back together again after their last break-up, he’s lost count of the number of times he couldn’t get hard or finish during sex. Rachel was always very cool about it, which somehow made him feel worse. He’d make sure to get her off, and he liked doing that, making her happy. But he just doesn’t seem to have much of a sex drive himself. Maybe his unhappiness is the reason for his lackluster performance in that department as of late.

He honestly can’t remember the last time he felt happy, the last time he laughed, felt the joy of being alive. And leaving the only home he’s ever known might not be the answer, but sticking around and hoping happiness will just spring eternal hasn’t been doing him any good.

Still, he’s going to have to stop driving soon. He hit the road at 5:00 in the morning and he’s been driving ever since, for almost 13 hours now—with stops along the way to panic and second guess himself, buying cups of tea to calm his nerves and subsequently needing to find bathrooms.

He needs to not be in a car for a while, even just for a night. Figure out his next move.

He looks up to take stock of where he is and finds himself parked in front of the funniest town sign he’s ever seen. The name of the town! And the painting! And the little citation added to it! He starts laughing, and pretty soon there are tears in his eyes from it. The light feeling in his chest afterward does some considerable work at calming the cascading swoops of uncertainty that have been plaguing him since the 800 kilometer mark.

That light feeling settles it for him: this is where he’s stopping, at least for a while. Anything that can make him laugh like this? It’s a sign both literal and metaphorical. The decision is as thrilling as it is terrifying. Patrick starts the car and pulls back on the road to drive into Schitt’s Creek with an undeniable feeling that he’s just on the verge of something.

2

Patrick hears a muffled thump and looks up to see David standing at the door with a huge box. He’s in the process of knocking again, with his forehead, and Patrick hurries over to let David in.

“Thanks,” David gasps, heaving the box onto the counter. “That was heavy,” he adds breathlessly, pulling forms out of his bag now that his hands are free. Patrick starts to say, “no problem” but stops when he notices that David is wearing a short sleeved shirt today, instead of one of the sweaters he’s usually wrapped in. Patrick forgets what he was going to say, his eyes straying to the edges of the sleeves that are hugging David’s biceps. Patrick swallows thickly and looks away, confused.

Patrick finally manages speech. “What’s in it?” he asks, his gaze inexplicably drawn to the hair on David’s arms.

“Oh, just some body milk,” David says absently, putting the completed forms in their designated tray under the counter.

Patrick stifles the sudden urge to find out if David’s skin is as soft as it seems based on how much David raves about the importance of moisturizing, and opens a box with the exacto knife from the cup holder next to the vendor form tray. He closes his eyes against the intrusive, shocking mental image of David using those arms to push Patrick against the counter and pauses in his movement of opening the box flaps.

He’s getting hard. What the fuck?

Patrick takes out a bottle of what indeed appears to be body milk and casts desperately for something to say. “Can you drink this?” he asks.

David’s head shoots up from where it’s been bent over the computer. “Why would you drink it?” he demands, clearly horrified.

“It’s milk?” Patrick tries inanely.

David laughs. “No, you don’t drink it, you put it on your skin.”

And now he’s thinking about David putting this stuff on his skin, forearms oily and tanned as he picks up boxes and moves them around the store. What the fuck?

“Seems like people might get confused,” Patrick says, grasping for even footing by leaning on teasing. “What if someone tries to drink it?”

David scoffs. “Anyone with a fiber of common sense would know that it’s not actually milk.”

“I don’t know, David,” Patrick jokes. “You sure Roland won’t think this is milk?”

“It’s not my fault that Roland has trouble with basic instructions,” David says, rolling his eyes. Patrick forces a laugh and carefully doesn’t react when David moves past him to help unload the body milk, their bare arms brushing for an instant that makes goosebumps ripple out from the point of contact.

He’s distracted for the rest of the day and, once they close up the shop and go their separate ways, for the rest of the evening.

Increasingly, David is all Patrick can think about lately. He’s been chalking it up to an innocent curiosity about the enigma that is David Rose. It’s the only thing that explains why he decided a month ago, quite recklessly, that he was going to go into business with David, even as he heard the voice in his head (which sounded unmistakably like his father) warning him not to make rash decisions.

David’s just so expressive. When he’s irritated, it’s all over his features. When he’s stressed, Patrick can see it in his posture. When he’s happy, it lights up David’s face. The happiness in particular is infectious. Every time Patrick pulls a smile or a laugh out of David, it makes him feel accomplished, like he’s just submitted his work several hours before the deadline and has time to do whatever he wants.

David’s been the main subject of his thoughts since the moment they met, and it’s well past the point of any logical reasoning now. It’s just after 4:00 am, and there’s no hope for the reprieve of sleep, so he gets out of bed and dresses in his running gear. It’s still dark when he steps outside, and for some reason he finds himself settling into his car and driving to the hiking trails he’s been exploring on his lonely weekends.

The darkness has faded, the sun breaching the skyline, when he reaches the lookout point he’d found the day he decided to offer his services to David. He’s been coming here on a regular basis ever since, his mind always clicking furiously between two mental states like reels in an old stereoscope. Now, looking out at the tops of the trees and the crystal clear sky, not a cloud in sight, Patrick still isn’t sure which reel is the truth.

The first reel runs through his mind constantly: _This isn’t normal; I’m altering my entire life by going into business with a man I barely know._ This isn’t something he can leave behind so easily. He’s tied himself to the potential the store represents and made it very difficult to turn back. He’s invested now.

The other reel is just as present in his mind: _I’m finally doing something that feels right. Who cares about normal?_

The normal thing would have been to work hard at his consulting job, get promoted to a supervisor role and secure a higher salary with better benefits, to start saving for a house. The normal thing would have been to get married, to Rachel or another woman, to start a family. Does he really want to go back to avoiding how unhappy he was for the sake of a predictable, normal future?

The alternative pulls right up and makes itself known. A set of hands that move gracefully to punctuate a distinct, remarkable point of view. A set of wardrobe choices so striking, so beautifully not-normal. A smile tucked into the corner, yearning yet dreading to be seen. A laugh that makes Patrick’s heart pound.

The stereoscope clicks, and Patrick feels tears on his face. He swipes at them, but his eyes keep filling over and over again, and soon he’s letting out hitched sobs, too.

 _The thing he’d normally do_ is exactly the problem.

Maybe his obsession with doing the normal thing is why he’s a 30-year-old man who’s spent years looking for the source of his unhappiness, why he just lay awake for hours searching for the extremely obvious reason for his obsession with David, and why he’s only now, at this very moment, putting together that he’s gay.

Retrospect rushes at him. The fact that his mind would wander sometimes to Roy Halladay or Jose Bautista when he jerked off. Yanking his gaze away in locker rooms as a teenager and finding his eye drawn to the curved smile of his Business Administration professor in college. Struggling not to stare at two men kissing in the train station when he was 14. Feeling his stomach churn with nerves when he sat next to Liam in math, how hard it was to concentrate whenever Liam leaned over to make a joke or tell Patrick that linear algebra was kicking his ass.

The spike of his heart rate whenever David walks in looking like a supermodel.

It takes a while to pull himself together. He’s just unlocked an entire world of possibility. He’s right on the precipice, having shed the identity he’s worn his whole life simply because it was handed down to him and was what everyone else wore, and so what did it matter if it itched and didn’t actually fit?

Patrick lets the tears fall, at first tears of uncertainty but, with every passing second, increasing relief and understanding. When he descends this mountain, he’ll be wearing not a new identity, but one that was always his, one that’s already beginning to feel like a second skin.

3

“I’m gonna dry those off,” Patrick says, flustered, ducking into the back room with his heart thundering in his chest. He unpacks some product, trying to calm himself down.

He just asked his business partner to dinner. Patrick didn’t actually specify what dinner would mean. It can just be a friendly birthday dinner with his business partner and nothing more than that. He hasn’t blown it yet.

It’s not a date.

He wants it to be. He wants to sit across from David and eat mediocre food, hear more of David’s stories of intrigue. He wants to watch David scrunch his mouth up trying not to laugh at one of Patrick’s jokes, to tease David until he’s glaring at him, see David’s face pinch in disgust and horror at one of Patrick’s opinions, and stare openly while David makes his own obviously superior opinions known with flourishes of his hands.

A sobering series of thoughts bring Patrick back to the present and away from the scenario he’s drawing up in his head where he leans across the table after dinner and kisses David. Something chaste but with promise.

The first and most obvious concern is that David might not feel the way Patrick does. It’s a thought he’s already entertained on multiple occasions, usually on the anxiety hikes he’s now taking on a near-daily basis. In theory, David could be interested. Patrick’s heard enough of David’s stories to know that David dates men and women and people who use other pronouns, but just because David could be attracted to Patrick doesn’t mean he actually is.

There’s also a strong possibility Patrick is not David’s type. As it turns out, Patrick didn’t know _his own_ type until three months ago. Plus, he’s never even kissed a man before. In the unlikely event that David is interested, he might not want to date someone so inexperienced. But the idea of dating anyone else is so unappealing Patrick shuts that down before he can fully form the thought. He doesn’t want men; he wants David.

If he tells David he wants this to be a date, it could go very wrong. If David isn’t interested, Patrick will have to spend almost every day working alongside the man he can’t stop thinking about, who will know how Patrick feels. It would be awkward beyond imagination.

Besides, even if David wants it to be a date and it goes well, that doesn’t mean it’ll work out long term or that they’ll be able to salvage their working relationship if things go sour and they have to part ways. The idea of not having David in his life is worse than the idea of never getting to have that date, no question.

There’s nothing for it. This will just be a friendly dinner to celebrate his business partner’s birthday.

It’s been a while since he spritzed the hell out of those vegetables, so it’s time to stop hiding back here. And to think about what he’s going to get David for his birthday. It’s surprisingly difficult to work out what to get him; it would be laughable to buy David anything wearable, and there are so many gifts that could give the wrong impression.

He’s still thinking about it when he heads out at 4:00, leaving David to close up since he opened, as per their set schedule. David waves him off with a, “see you later?” that makes Patrick start to sweat immediately. He’s made his decision, but it doesn’t mean he isn’t nervous as he heads back to Ray’s to kill some time and think about the gift some more.

In his room at Ray’s, Patrick paces nervously, wracking his brain. It’s too bad there’s no general store in this town, or he’d have options. He might have to drive to Elmdale to find something appropriate, but that won’t give him much time to get ready. Not that he needs a lot of time to get ready, since this is just a casual dinner with his business partner.

An idea springs forward. He crosses to his bag to check how much cash he has in his wallet. Kettle Farm will only accept cash, so he’ll have to stop at the ATM first, but he could go there and pick up the case of apple cider vinegar David’s been promising to retrieve all week. While he’s at it, Patrick could buy some of the ice wine cider that they don’t make in large enough quantities to sell at the store. He can joke about how he did part of David’s job for him as a birthday present.

But there’s nothing in his wallet except a receipt from the cafe, and the sight of it unlocks something in him. He’s not going to give David some meaningless gift, or make it into a joke. David is deserving of a present that will show him just how happy Patrick is to be running the store with him, how happy he is that they met and that—

He’s running away from his potential for happiness. He’s talked himself into the predictable, normal thing again instead of taking a chance, even if it’s scary and even if it ends up hurting in the long run.

Patrick finds the receipt in his bedside table, where he put it after opening day, after that long hug that made him wonder if he was the only one harbouring feelings in this partnership. It’s still pristine, having been pressed inside of _The Lean Startup_ for safekeeping. He’s kept it as a reminder of how good it is to do the thing that feels right, consequences be damned.

All he needs to do is find a picture frame, one David will approve of this time, and to pick an outfit, also one David will approve of. He opens his wardrobe to examine his choices, reaching for the dinner jacket on instinct. Business casual won’t work at all.

4

Patrick heads out the back door with half of David’s muffin, slides into his car and drops the paper bag on the passenger seat with a weary sigh. He sits for a second, biting back the emotion brimming to the surface, pinpricks at the corners of his eyes, and starts the car.

He knows where he’s going before he’s even really made the conscious choice. It would be nice if the weather could appropriately reflect his mood, but the sun is shining spectacularly this morning, hitting the house perfectly. There doesn’t seem to be anyone home, so Patrick gets out of the car and leans against it to take in the house again.

He blinks away the mental image of presenting the house to David, of wrapping David in his arms and whispering, “it’s ours,” and getting to watch David squirm with delight. That’s not going to happen now.

He can’t even fault David because they haven’t exactly discussed where they’ll live long term. He should have seen this coming. Of course David longs for greener pastures, but he didn’t think it would happen so soon. He thought they’d get a few good years here, maybe even a decade.

Maybe it’s silly (it’s definitely silly), but a big part of Patrick has been hoping that he can convince David to stay in the place where they met and fell in love—the place where they’re going to get married—simply by delivering David the house he’s been admiring whenever they pass it. But David’s always had big dreams. Why would he ever be happy in Schitt’s Creek, even if it comes with Patrick and the store?

Patrick thinks about New York. It’s not an easy market, and they’ll have to start all over again with a new space, with new vendors. They won’t turn a profit for a couple of years, but they can use the money they’ll make from the sale of the store ( _their beautiful store_ ) to get by until they’re profitable again. And there are grants. They can take out a line of credit if they need to. Hell, they can use the money Patrick’s been putting aside for the downpayment on the house.

If it’s what David wants, he can make himself want it too. If he has to sacrifice a little happiness in the present to make his future husband happy in the long run, it’ll be worth it.

Patrick watches the house a little longer, and when he drives away he watches it disappear in the rearview mirror. Then he focuses on the road ahead of him.

5

“Your blood pressure’s a little elevated,” Dr. Brookstone says, eyebrows furrowed as she looks up from the results of what was supposed to be a routine check-up. “That’s unusual for someone your age. Do you have a family history of high blood pressure?”

Patrick clears his suddenly dry throat. “No,” he says. “My dad has a bit of arthritis but other than that they’re both really healthy, thankfully.”

“Okay. And have you noticed any changes lately? Your appetite or energy level?”

Patrick shakes his head, but now that he’s thinking about it… “Actually, yeah, I’ve been more tired lately.” He’s fallen asleep watching the game a few times in the last month, which is a bit out of the norm for him. And he’s been tired in the mornings, struggling to get up with his usual vigour.

She makes a note of that, and Patrick’s stomach swoops with nerves. “Okay, if you notice anything unusual, please feel free to call,” she says. “In the meantime, I’m going to recommend you get a blood pressure monitor for home use. I want you to check your blood pressure two times a day, in the morning and evening, and I’m going to make an appointment with you in three weeks to see where you are and to check it again here. If it’s still consistently elevated at that point, then we’ll look at getting some other tests done to see what’s causing it.”

Patrick is deeply confused. “Dr. Brookstone, my apologies but I exercise every day, and I watch what I eat. I’m only 36, so this seems pretty weird to me.”

“I agree,” she says kindly. “That’s why we should check and see if this is something to be more concerned about. Elevated blood pressure can be caused by several factors and conditions, and it isn’t automatically a sign of serious concern, so let’s wait and see what the results show before we get ahead of ourselves, okay?”

Patrick nods. She has a very calm, no-bullshit air about her, and it’s always been comforting but no more so than right now. “Okay.”

“Great,” she says. “June will book your follow-up appointment, and she’s going to give you information about the blood pressure monitor. You can usually find one at the pharmacy, just ask at the back. Alright?”

Patrick nods again and thanks her, leaving her office with his nerves still twisting. The secretary greets him politely. “Says here Dr. Brookstone wants a follow-up scheduled in three weeks. Are you free the morning of the 27th?”

Patrick pulls up his phone’s calendar. He’ll be doing vendor pick-ups that morning, so it’ll be a good cover to come here beforehand to prevent David from noticing two doctor’s appointments in one month when Patrick usually only goes for the typical check-up once a year. “Is 9:00 okay?” he asks.

He leaves with his appointment booked and a set of instructions for recording his blood pressure at home, and sets off for the pharmacy across the street from the hospital. He uses his own card to pay for the part not covered by insurance, just in case David checks their joint account hoping to buy that sweater he’s been eyeing.

He’s not telling David about this until he’s sure there’s something for David to freak out about, which David will absolutely do. There’s no reason to get David all worked up for nothing. He can handle this on his own, for now.

The problem is, David’s a snoop and he’ll notice if something is off with Patrick’s routine. Morning is easy because David never gets up when Patrick does, but the evening is harder. He ends up checking his blood pressure in the bathroom before his shower and stashing the monitor under the sink in the mop bucket until the morning when he can hide it in his sock drawer. He feels guilty sneaking around, but he does not want to upset his husband. He can spare David the concern; it’s just a few weeks, and then he’ll have concrete information to share either way.

The other problem is that his blood pressure continues to be elevated. It’s not very high, 125/80, but that number is still unsettling, not to mention frustrating. Can’t it just be 5 numbers lower?

He spends his time alone in the store looking up conditions that can cause high blood pressure, which really doesn’t help. He also looks up treatments for high blood pressure. He might have to alter his diet, but it’s not like they eat junk food all the time, so he’ll just have to deal with that when there’s more information to go on.

He starts running a bit longer every day, just an extra ten minutes, but that makes him more tired, and he’s not sure if it’s because of the extra exercise or because of whatever’s causing his blood pressure to be elevated. He’s tired enough that he falls asleep pretty much right when his head hits the pillow every night, but he keeps waking up tired anyway.

He’s also distracted at work, which David notices. “You okay?” he asks after Patrick zones out in the middle of a transaction.

“I’m fine,” he says.

He’s more careful after that.

Three weeks pass predictably slowly, but the 27th still manages to arrive quicker than he expects it to. He takes the page of blood pressure recordings with him to his appointment, where he reports how tired he’s been.

Scanning the results, Dr. Brookstone says, “Patrick, I suspect you have sleep apnea. I want you to take a sleep test—it’ll measure your breathing while you sleep—and I’m going to refer you for some tests to rule out other conditions as well. The good news is that if it is sleep apnea, there are several treatment options available.”

That is objectively good news, but Patrick feels his heart sink at the realization that he’s going to have to talk to David now, and David is going to be understandably angry that Patrick hasn’t told him about this.

Dr. Brookstone sends Patrick to get a blood test and to the cardiovascular wing for an electrocardiogram to check for damage to the heart (“it’s just a precaution, Patrick,” she tells him when she sees his expression). She says she’ll have the results of those tests in about a week and she writes him a prescription for an at-home sleep test that he can pick up from the pharmacy, like the blood pressure monitor. He needs to come back next week so those results can be analyzed and so he can find out if his heart has been damaged.

The blood test is over quickly, and while the electrocardiogram isn’t painful or lengthy, Patrick finds himself wishing David was out in the waiting room. He’s starting to feel very nervous. By the time he’s finished at the clinic, it’s already almost noon so Patrick does his vendor pick-ups as quickly as he can, but it’s mid-afternoon when he finally parks the car out front so he can carry the boxes into the store.

“Hey!” David greets him with a kiss when he’s put the first few boxes down. “I was getting worried.”

“Sorry, got a little held up. Let me get the rest of the boxes and then I’m gonna run over to the cafe to get some lunch.”

“You haven’t eaten?” David calls after him, but Patrick doesn’t stop to answer him.

David’s dealing with a customer when he brings in the last of the boxes, so Patrick doesn’t have to answer any questions about what kept him so long, which he counts as a small mercy. He crosses the street to get himself a salad. He should probably be eating more fruits and vegetables; that’s what the websites had all said.

He eats his lunch in the back, and now that he’s sitting here with some time to think, his stomach is forming increasing knots that make it difficult to eat. There’ll be no hiding the sleep test machine he picked up before coming here. David will definitely notice something’s wrong when Patrick has to bring that to bed.

When he’s eaten as much as he can stomach, Patrick heads out front again. “Hey,” he says, guilt pulling at his insides. “I’m not feeling that well. Do you mind if I head home early?”

David immediately looks concerned, and he checks Patrick’s temperature with a hand to his forehead. “You don’t feel warm. What’s wrong?”

“Stomach,” Patrick says, too guilt-ridden to manage anything besides single word sentences.

“Awwww.” David pouts sympathetically at him. “Okay, you go and get some rest. See you at home.” He kisses Patrick again, trailing his hand along Patrick’s arm and wrist as he lets go.

At home, Patrick sits on the back porch, stomach roiling with nerves. David’s going to be home any second now. He watches the neighbour's cat traverse across the top of their fence, and jump down into her yard. He’s incredibly tense waiting in this awful limbo for David to come home and join Patrick in the uncertainty, and waiting for his body to reveal a future on the horizon as inevitable as the sun.

This isn’t the first time he’s hid important things from David. He really could have made better decisions here, told David the truth no matter how difficult it might be for David to hear. He sighs and shifts in his seat, unsettled and afraid of what will happen when David gets home and realizes what Patrick’s kept from him.

David finds him on the porch swing, staring helplessly out at the enormous field beyond their property. David sits down heavily. “God, long day.” Then he notices something off with Patrick, probably his miserable expression. “What’s going on?” he asks, voice calm but his posture tight and nervous.

Patrick hesitates, then forges on. Nothing else for it. “Remember when I went for my check-up three weeks ago?” David doesn’t say anything, eyes wide and scared. “My blood pressure was a little high, so Dr. Brookstone asked me to start checking my blood pressure twice a day to see if it’s a problem or just a one-time thing. I had my follow-up appointment today.”

“You—you’ve been checking your blood pressure twice a day for three weeks?” David summarizes, still in that weirdly calm voice.

Patrick swallows nervously. “Yeah. But my blood pressure was still elevated, so she wants me to take a sleep test; she prescribed me this machine that’ll test if—if I’m getting enough oxygen at night,” he explains, heart twisting at the horrified expression that overtakes David’s face. “I’m supposed to go back next Friday, and she’ll have the results of my other tests.”

“Other tests? What tests?” David demands, and he’s starting to sound less calm finally.

Patrick hesitates again. This is going to be bad. “A blood test and an electrocardiogram. That measures heart activity. It’s to see if there’s any damage to the heart. She doesn’t think there will be, but—”

David’s eyes well with tears and his face crumples. “Patrick, why didn’t you _tell_ me? You’ve been dealing with this by yourself for _three weeks_?”

Patrick grabs David’s hand, crestfallen. “I’m so sorry, David. I should have told you.”

“Of course you should have told me!” David says, more like shouts. “What were you thinking? You’d be livid if I didn’t tell you something this important!”

“I know, you’re right,” Patrick mumbles guiltily. “I’m sorry. I knew you’d be upset, and I just didn’t want to stress you out for nothing.”

David rears back, and his jaw drops. “This isn’t nothing!” he exclaims.

Patrick hunches over and tries to swallow around the massive lump in his throat. “I was going to tell you, David, I swear. I just wanted to be sure there was something to worry about.”

Patrick can see how much David wants to get up and start using his whole body to express his full dissatisfaction, but David holds himself still and close even as his face registers obvious frustration and anger. “And why exactly do you get to decide what I should worry about? You’re my husband, so I’m allowed to worry about you. I could have come to the appointment with you today. We could have figured out a plan. We’re _married_ , Patrick! We’re supposed to be in this together.”

Patrick’s a pretty steady guy, but these words get him right where it hurts. He’s sniffling and wiping at his streaming eyes in seconds. David grasps Patrick’s shoulder with his hand, the one with the wedding band on it, and swoops in to kiss him. Patrick kisses back fervently, heart pounding.

“You idiot,” David says tearfully, with feeling, before leaning back a few inches. “Come on, I’ll make you some supper.”

“I’m sorry,” Patrick says again, breathless, still rooted to the spot. “David, I’m so—“

“Shhh. Let me take care of my husband.”

He has to blubber a little longer on the swing at _that_ , but eventually he lets David lead him to the table on the porch. Once David has served them leftovers and sat down across from Patrick, he says, “Okay, do over. Pretend you just got back from the first appointment. Tell me.”

He doesn’t deserve David’s kindness. Patrick feels tears welling up again and swipes at them impatiently. “I—today, I found out—” Fuck, why is this so hard? “The doctor noticed my blood pressure was a little elevated today,” he says. “I’m supposed to check my blood pressure twice a day until my follow-up appointment on the 27th.”

“Okay,” David says calmly, but with eyebrows furrowed in anxiety. “Did she say what she thinks it could be? You’re only 36. You work out like Christian Bale trying to get in shape for an Oscar-contending role.” Patrick can’t help but smile at that. “And we eat well, mostly?”

Patrick nods. “I did say that, and she said we shouldn’t get too ahead of ourselves, that it might not be a serious condition, but it’s still worth checking to be sure. Today she said she thinks it could be sleep apnea, but she wants to rule out hypertension and make sure there isn’t any… damage to my heart.” It’s hard to say the words, to confront the fear he’s feeling about what’s to come and the regret and shame from failing to share this important information with his husband. Still, Patrick can already feel the tension in his shoulders loosening. “At the first appointment, she asked if I have a family history of high blood pressure, which I don’t, and if there have been any changes for me lately, like lower energy levels and appetite.”

“And you told her you’ve been extra tired lately?” David prompts.

Patrick stares at him. “You noticed?” David just levels him a look, and Patrick smiles softly down at his dinner. “Yeah, I told her.”

“So, what happens if it’s sleep apnea? Did she say?” David asks. “Will you need a new nose?”

Patrick chuckles, drinking in the sight of David’s little corner smirk. “She said there’s several treatment options, and I looked them up in the car. It wouldn’t be too bad. And if it’s sleep apnea, the treatment should bring my blood pressure back to normal because I’ll be getting the right amount of oxygen when I sleep. But David, if it’s heart disease or diabetes or—”

“Hey,” David says, covering Patrick’s hand with his own. “We’ll go to the appointment on Friday, and whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

Patrick lets out a long, relieved breath. “You’re right. Okay.”

David pats his hand, then tsks exasperatedly. “There. Was that so fucking hard?”

Patrick shouldn’t laugh, but he can’t help it. “No, I guess not. I really am sorry,” he says again.

“I know you are. But I hope that means you won’t suffer in silence next time,” David says, unusually sober in tone and expression. David’s face ripples out with a devastating expression of sadness. “Patrick, it’s very concerning to me that you don’t seem to think you can tell me something this important. What should I be reading into that? Fuck, do we need to talk to someone? It seems like a _very_ bad sign that you could have leaned on me for support, but you chose not to.”

Patrick lets out an unsteady breath. He really did handle this in the absolute worst way. “I really fucked up, David,” he says, pushing his plate away to focus on the conversation. “I don’t—I just want you to be happy. I don’t want to be the reason you’re sad or scared.”

David eyes him for a moment, then he tilts his head shrewdly. “Oh. So this is that thing you do where you try to preserve other people’s happiness at the expense of your own.”

Patrick’s taken aback. Does he do that? Oh god, he totally does that. And not just with David, but with Rachel and his parents. With just about everyone. Wow.

“I—I think maybe…” Patrick stops, finds his voice is shaking and tries to smooth it out, failing spectacularly. “I think maybe I believe that I don’t deserve to be happy. That I can make myself more… more worthy of it if I make other people happy.” God, it’s scary to reveal something so intimate, but it’s also incredibly freeing.

David looks so beautiful in the setting sun as he links their fingers together. “I know you do, honey,” he says gently. “I get it. Do you think I feel like I deserve to be happy? Like I deserve you, someone who _makes_ me this happy? _Please,_ Patrick. You don’t have to sacrifice your own needs for my happiness. It isn’t a dwindling resource. You don’t have to twist yourself into the shape you think I want. I want _you_.”

Patrick knocks the chair back in his haste to stand up. He leans down over the table to kiss David fiercely. “I love you,” he breathes. “And I would very much like to drag you upstairs right now.”

David visibly swallows. “Oh, is that right?” he mutters huskily, eyes trained on Patrick’s mouth. Patrick nods and bites his lip. Then David smirks and leans away. “Too bad. You go lie down on the couch so I can fuss over you properly.”

Okay, he deserves that. Patrick pouts for a second, then promptly gets moving; David’s using his bossy voice.

-

The day before the appointment is difficult for both of them. Work is long and impossible to concentrate on. There’s a palpable tension in the store, a buzzing frequency of anxiety. But on the bright side, they lock up and make the drive home in record time (9 minutes, 27 seconds).

It’s straight upstairs when they get in the door, no need to talk about it. As soon as they’re in the bedroom, they crash into each other, pulling clothes off in rough, desperate moves. David pins Patrick to the wall by the bed, and Patrick gasps when David sucks the beginning of a hickey under the hinge of Patrick’s jaw. Patrick moans and tugs on David’s hair so he can get their mouths at the right angle for a burning kiss.

The building feeling of urgency is too strong for anything elaborate or acrobatic; Patrick just needs to have his bare skin against David’s and he needs to make David come. He pushes David onto the bed with hurried intent, breathing hard and moaning as he takes David’s cock in his mouth, holding David’s hips and sucking him down until David comes with a shout.

Then it’s his turn. Patrick moans and holds his legs up as David works three fingers inside and fucks him with them. Patrick gets increasingly frantic the longer it goes on, until David begins rubbing Patrick’s thigh soothingly and then finally, finally wrings Patrick’s orgasm from him with his free hand. Patrick keens and bucks, and David strokes him until Patrick’s shivering with aftershocks. And then a little longer.

Patrick still can’t believe how good the sex is with David. Sometimes, he has to figuratively pinch himself to make sure he didn’t dream this life up.

The desperate need satiated, Patrick feels a little lost without a single-minded goal to help soothe the terrible unknown of tomorrow. But David helps when he pulls Patrick close like he’s weightless, kissing the spot behind Patrick’s ear, and holding Patrick in his arms until his heart stops racing.

David drives them to the appointment first thing in the morning. He puts Patrick’s playlist on and sings along under his breath, his hand straying to Patrick’s knee every few minutes. David is doing an admirable job of remaining calm for Patrick’s sake; only his endless tapping on the steering wheel gives him away.

In Dr. Brookstone’s office, where they were just directed a few minutes ago, David keeps his hand on Patrick’s knee. Patrick is gripping the arm rest tightly, which he notices when David leans in to ask softly, “Did I ever tell you about the time I had to pretend to be a doctor so I could rescue Alexis from an organ trafficking ring?”

Patrick smiles and lets go of the arm rest to squeeze David’s hand. He has heard the story, but he wants to hear it again, especially right now. Anything to avoid thinking about what’s on the other side of that door.

David starts telling him the story, but Patrick can’t focus on it after all. In this moment, nothing’s certain. If he leaves this room right now, he can forever stay Patrick Brewer: Totally Fine, Bro. Okay, not exactly. But depending on the diagnosis Dr. Brookstone is about to give him, the next few moments could change his whole life. He might have heart damage and hypertension or some other life-altering condition.

He’s still so young. He has so much he wants to do, with David by his side. He doesn’t want to be dealing with heart problems before he’s even had his mid-life crisis.

David squeezes his hand. “Hey, you’re not even listening to me!” he says, faux-scandalized.

“Sorry,” Patrick mumbles, unable to play their teasing game as usual, even though it would probably make him feel better.

David reels him in to kiss him. “Patrick, I’m here. Whatever you need, I’m right here.” David smiles, and it’s so beautiful Patrick can’t look directly at it. “We’re in this together, right?” he whispers, nudging Patrick and giving him one of his trademark shoulder shimmies.

Laughing, Patrick nudges him back and nods. He feels unbearably fond. “Right,” he says. He links their fingers and takes a deep, long breath before letting it out again. “Together.”

The door opens and Dr. Brookstone enters. She’s smiling. “I have good news.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Ciao!


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